COLD TRAP

Chapter 76 

MIRABELLA 

Spoons and plates clink, my children’s little voices pass through my ears like soft whispers as they throw their tantrums, my husband chews his food loudly–an effort to infuriate me. 

Even with the unspoken words and unexpressed anger looming over my husband and I, we find ourselves sitting at the dinner table, trying to force smiles on our faces for the sake of our children. 

Not like they care, considering that they’re munching on their dinner and chattering away as though we do not exist. Still, we hope to create a good example for them. 

As the meal goes on, the silence between my husband and I becomes more and more uncomfortable. It’s my daughter, Mariana who looks up from her plate first, her eyes meeting mine. Furrowing her brows, she looks between her father and I before refocusing on her food. 

For a moment, she leans into her brother, whispering something into his ear. Mariano snickers, his eyes stealing a quick glance at his father. 

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, now realizing that they know. And with the kind of children I have, it’s only a matter of time–seconds before they are talking my ears off about it. 

When those seconds I talked about elapses, my children’s little faces are scrunched up in concern. They glance back and forth between us, sensing the unease. 

“Mamá, is everything okay? Why aren’t you speaking to papá?” Mariana asks, her voice tiny. 

I scoff, “why don’t you ask him why he isn’t speaking to me?” My son shoots me a look of indifference but doesn’t speak. 

My lips pull apart for words, but Matteo beats me to it. “We’re just having a disagreement, sweetie. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

Mariana and Mariano exchange a skeptical look. They know something is off. They’ve seen us arguing more often than they should; so much they can feel the strain in our relationship. 

“We don’t like it when you fight,” Mariano says, his lower lip jutting out. “Sort it out soon, okay? I don’t want it getting to a point where we have to choose between either of you.” 

Like I said, they know this is different. 

My heart aches. I don’t want our kids to feel uncomfortable in their own home. I force myself to reach out and put a hand on Matteo’s arm. “We’re sorry, kids. We’ll try to do better, okay?” I say, smiling at them. They don’t speak to me; the two of them. They clamber down their chairs, making their way out of the dinning room without a word spoken to me or their father. 

I breathe out a tired sigh and lean my back against the backrest of the seat as I urge my mind to calm. 

Matteo’s eyes flicker to mine, and for a moment, I think I see a glimmer of understanding. But then his mask slips back into place, and he withdraws his arm from my touch. 

The rest of the meal is strained, the tension between us palpable. I want to get up from my seat, but my legs are shaking–so weak. And I know that I’ll be unable to stand on my feet even for a second. I am trapped in this chair. 

So much is happening in this marriage of ours lately. First, Helen shows up with claims of Matteo being the father of her four year old daughter. Then my father fills my mind with so much doubt by insinuating that Matteo killed Pablo on purpose. 

I’m wallowing in confusion. Matteo might be everything despicable, but lying is yet to make it into the list of the things he is. 

But why do I find myself wanting to believe others over him? Why am I unable to get my mind off that whore of his? 

And this pregnancy; it was unexpected and unplanned for. I cannot carry a child now, I just can’t… 

Silent, Matteo and I start clearing the table. And in the moments when I find our gazes lingering on one another, I realize that this is not worth it. 

We can’t keep going on like this. We need to confront our issues, to talk about what’s going on and how we can fix it. For our sake, and for the sake of our children. 

“I was going to tell you about it.” I say, my voice soft. Matteo lifts his gaze from the table and slices me a look of indifference before refocusing on what he was doing. “I wanted to talk to you-” 

“When?” His thick, gruffly voice cut me off. The loathe lingering in his tone shakes me to the core. “When were you going to tell me about it? After you’ve already done it?” 

“Matteo-” 

+5 

With a grunt, he cut me off again. “Just stop it. Do not patronize me.” 

“It’s not because of the business,” I declare, 

“What?” 

“The abortion,” I breathe, my voice shaking. “I’m not trying to have it because of my organization or whatever idea you have cooked up in your head.” 

“Then why?” 

“I’m scared.” I admit. 

My admission chills the room with silence as Matteo’s eyes burn into my skin while I try to avoid his gaze as best as I can. He doesn’t speak or break his stare when he begins approaching me with slow, gentle steps. 

When he’s close to me, both hands are placed softly on both sides of my hips, pulling me close to him so that our fronts merge. 

His thumb curves under my chin, lifting my face up so that our eyes collide. A shaky breath wracks through me when my eyes are met by his soft 

gaze. 

“I’m so scared, Matteo,” I hush, the tears at the brim of my eyes now making their way down my face. Matteo cradles my face, his thumbs doing a quick job of wiping each rope of tear. “What if I have complications like I did with the twins? What if I’m unable to carry this to the end? What if the dangers of this crazy world of ours catches up with me…and…and….” 

“Shh…” He whispers, placing his index finger over my mouth. “I understand your fears, amore mio. Don’t cry anymore… I understand your decision perfectly.” 

“But I want to have this child, Matteo, to have this experience with you here with us. I want to know what it’ll be like, having you here while I grow our child.” I sob into his chest. 

Matteo continues to gently pat my back. He doesn’t speak. He only listens–and he does so attentively. 

I sniffle, “what do you think we should do, Matteo?” 

“It’s your body, my love, and you should make decisions that serves you best. Whatever you decide to do about this, I am solidly behind you, okay?” I nod, “okay.” 

“Okay.” He affirms. “No more fighting and silent treatment?” 

“No more,” I chuckle. 

“Good, because I can’t stand not speaking with you.” 

“Me too.” I agree. “I love you, Matteo.” 

“Te amo, tesoro.” 

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